If you’re going for the passed around the reef mermaid look, you could do worse than Kylie Jenner’s new hair extension line. Kylie stood next to her sister Kim with every indicator of a twinsies moment save for Kylie hoisting a Cali license plate I2WHORE. Outside of cancer patients and background dancers for Christina Aguilera, I’m not sure why hair extensions exist. I understand tit jobs, but I’m not sure many rich dudes are looking at artificial hair and thinking, fuck, I’d like to empty my back account for that long tressed babe. If only Kylie had stuck with school past the seventh grade. She could at least have a working knowledge of how her mother was misappropriating her paychecks.

Kim Kardashian was not paid for her Charlie McCarthy like like full frontal cover shoot for Paper Magazine since Paper Magazine is not a legitimate magazine and does not have the money to pay their cover models. Hence their willingness to put a lubed up silicon injected case of steatopygia on their cover. The New Yorker and Buttman passed because they have standards. Paper Magazine would gladly slap James Franco humping a Fleshlight on their cover if his agent called. Anything to get over the hump toward becoming a legitimate publication.

Kim’s look at me now grand Shopped up titty extravaganza is some kind of wonderful. Or horrible, until you imagine calling her names while pulling her genie hair then it goes back to wonderful. Try to imagine how disappointed sperm is when it finds out who you were looking at when you made it. I’m crying too.

I could read the part where Kim Kardashian is such a self-aware laugh riot who felt emboldened and liberated by having her Photoshopped bare ass appear in a New York rag, but in homage to Kim, I’m pretending reading is boring and hurts my head. Also, it saved me two minutes to which I applied my Learning Annex intro to Photoshop skills of my own. A little nip here, a tuck there, and suddenly you have the perfect embodiment of rapper trash toy. I know Kim isn’t wounded by any of the vitriol lobbed against her. There’s something admirable about that. It also means we all need to try a little harder.

I’m no psychologist, but I once got paid two hundred bucks for a grad student to ask me an alarmingly large number of questions about sexual attraction to inanimate objects. This $10K Hermes handbag the Belgian nannies forced North West to paint for her mom’s birthday isn’t just the random machinations of a toddler. There’s something dangerous ruminating in that imprisoned brain of the first daughter-whore. Note the bloody handprint surrounded by the more colorful splashes of sapphire and yellow. Like the rising hand of so many aborted older sisters and brothers she will never know. Suffering, marked with the sprinkling of hope. Redrum, Danny. Somebody copter in and save that baby before the next moon.

This wee porn star will go anywhere at any time for any filthy large amount of money. Long after the Apocalypse Kim will still be crisscrossing Old New York vacuuming up precious metals like a whore version of Wall-E. With the right encouragement Kim could’ve easily become an IHOP waitress or heart donor instead a pair of tits in heels. Ambition really is a double edged sword that you need to think twice before ramming into your twat.

An online petition is circulating to remove a line of Kardashian Kids clothes from Babies ‘R Us. The items in question include a fake leather mini skirt with attached diaper cover and a fake fur animal print vest. The clothes are designed for children aged 0-24 months meaning you can mold your baby girl into a skank fresh out of the womb. Most mothers find it offensive a chick famous for getting bent over in front of the first HD cam would be influencing their young daughters. Idolizing nasty idiots shouldn’t start until puberty prematurely induced by hormones in our chicken. Of course these mothers could simply not buy this shit and spend the time signing this petition by reading to their kid, but give them credit for that. Better to give the Kardashian crowd some free advertising. Between procreating and feverishly buying shit to throw in a closet these pudgy crusaders have neglected to realize that the worse shit gets, the more these whores reap the benefit. They’re like Wall Street brokers who bought out the stock in Armageddon. They’d say thanks if they were aware of this.